


Book One: Spirit

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Healing, POV Zuko (Avatar), Pre-Book 01, Pre-Book 1: Water, Pre-Season/Series 01, Sparring, Whump, Zuko Angst, banished zuko, suidical thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: After Zuko is hurt and banished, Iroh tries to help him heal.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter One: Dishonor

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written an _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ fic before, and this was supposed to be a one-shot, but... well... looks like it'll be a few chapters. My bad. I've watched this show probably 20 times, but now as an adult watching it again, I'm a writer, and I just had to touch upon Zuko's story. God, I've loved him since I was 10.

Zuko, banished Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, awoke on his right side, left eye blazing with pain. The sharp, burning torment seared down into his teeth, up over his ear, across his jaw, and over his scalp that was unnaturally cold with lack of hair. Zuko coiled his body tight on the cot aboard his room in the small naval ship he’d been granted. Through the throbbing agony demanding all his attention, he idly wondered if they’d left Fire Nation waters. Staying in them was dangerous, but so was venturing into the Earth Kingdom’s territory as an enemy. That’s what he was. An enemy to all four nations, a dishonorable traitor to the crown. To his nation. To his family. To his father.

Gritting his teeth, Zuko forced himself into a sitting position, arms shaking from tension and pain. Surely his uncle would tell him he’d need to meditate, and a great many other things as well.

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, and he didn’t want to have to look upon them, his uncle and his crew only visible from his right eye. His left was smeared with salve, covered in soft cloth padding, and heavily bandaged. Aside from the pain, his skin felt hot, sticky, and wrong. So very wrong.

Zuko shook his nightmares away and rose to get dressed. It was dark, the candles in his room unlit. They would stay that way.

A knock sounded on his door as he was belting his tunic.

“ _Go. Away._ ”

“Prince Zuko—“

Zuko heard nothing else that his uncle said. Only his title — _prince_.

Ha! Prince. He wasn’t a prince. He was a disgrace!

Zuko growled under his breath, fists clenching. Normally, from the anger, his breath would be of fire, and he could feel that tantalizing, once-soothing heat within him. But it was blocked by numbness. Hate. Guilt.

He realized his uncle was saying something about a tea that could help with his burns. But just the thought of heat had his nails biting into the palms of his hands, his head spinning. Orange and red blasted through his vision.

Zuko pushed through it and the threatening mountain of shame that sought to crush him, and he busied himself with putting on his boots.

He stopped his uncle midstream, repeating, “ _Go. Away._ ”

The door opened and his uncle, Iroh, peered in. “Prince Zuko.”

Immediately turning away from this one person who might love him, who Zuko didn’t want to love him, he snarled, “I’m not a prince! Are you blind? Do you not see where we are, what happened?” He turned back, making sure his burning left eye with all the padding was in full view. “Or do you care so little for my pain?”

Iroh’s face softened. It hadn’t fallen into despair or grief or even disappointment like Zuko had wanted it to. Zuko bit his bottom lip, turning away again. He couldn’t let him see that he was weak. Not after disgracing himself during the Agni Kai. Zuko was lowly. Nothing. To show emotion would be to fall beyond that. Perhaps to lose himself, to doom himself to never walk amongst the Heavens where he sometimes thought his mother might be. But, Zuko wondered if part of himself was already there — a spirit, gray, and wasted, not able to talk or see. Lost.

“I care for you in ways you are not yet ready to accept,” Iroh told him, voice calm, accent familiar and soothing. Which just made it all the more grating. Zuko turned on his cot in his pained stubbornness, pulling his knees up to his chest. Iroh came and knelt beside him, deep red robes falling against the side of his cot. “These troubles you have been through are not the end, nephew. And while your vision lacks its full potential, you have the wisdom to see beyond what others may. You did the right thing.”

Zuko faced him, letting anger paint his face. “Don’t talk to me about the right thing! You failed at Ba Sing Se, and you came with me. Why? Why would you do that, Uncle?”

Iroh reached out a hand and Zuko flinched back. Slowly, Iroh lowered it back to his lap.

“The spirits value filial piety. As do I. It would be wrong of me to let you face this alone.”

“I am alone.” Zuko’s words were hard, defining. His face seared. “Now leave me so I can finish getting dressed. There are maps to look over. The avatar must be found.”

And there it was. That urgent twinge in his gut at the mention of his mission.

_Capture the avatar. Regain your honor._

And then he’d be welcomed home, the crown his, the throne awaiting him in his future.

“Prince Zuko, you must give yourself time to heal. Any injured soldier requires rest.”

“I’m not a soldier. I’m supposed to be above them.”

Iroh just looked upon him with understanding, and Zuko felt dangerous heat flaring in him. But ice cold fear washed through him, stifling it.

“We are all equals. If not in the way of the world, but in spirit. And your spirit needs to heal. You do not want my care, so then take my orders. Rest. Heal. I will make you some tea.”

“Your station is not above my own. You gave up being a general long ago.”

Iroh had stood, probably to go get tea, but then his uncle faced him, expression hard, and Zuko saw the stern soldier in him. He had been trained to be as unyielding as a forest fire, as steady as breath. And it lived in him now.

“Once a general, always a general,” he insisted. “You wish to make this difficult, but I won’t let you. Prince Zuko, by order of General Iroh, lie down, let a healer attend to you, and drink the tea I will give you. Do you understand?”

Zuko just mumbled, head down, “Yes, Uncle.”

He’d lost this battle. Maybe that’s how his life would go. Always losing battles. Losing everything.


	2. Chapter Two: Zuko's Bane

Zuko waited till the green tea cooled before drinking it. Leaving it to sit only enhanced the bitter taste, and he had to hold back on spitting it out. It would upset his uncle, and while a small, hurt part of him liked that idea, he knew to rein it in. He’d already been dishonored enough.

Iroh soon came to him after Zuko was tended to by the healer, and his uncle told him, “The men wish to see you, to know your plans.”

Zuko turned from him, wanting to hide his face. The candles in his room nearly started burning, but after a spark or two that seared fear into his heart, they were left in darkness.

“They don’t need to hear my plans. They have my orders. That’s enough.”

“Some are questioning—”

And there it was. The insinuation within his crew that he wasn’t a proper leader, that he wasn’t to be trusted. What, all because he was a boy? Because he’d been burned? A deep feeling in his gut was accompanied with the sudden, strange urge to burn _them_ , to show them _his_ pain.

“Are you questioning me?” Zuko challenged, turning on his uncle.

Iroh finally looked pained from Zuko’s words, but there was no satisfaction in him from it like he’d been seeking these long days. Something tiny and helpless inside of him quivered and hid in the shadows instead.

“No. Never, my nephew. But this situation is new to these men. Perhaps they could use some inspiration to boost morale.” Iroh smiled suddenly, putting a hand to his round stomach. “I know I would not mind a happier cook. The roast duck is already quite delicious.”

“Did you come here to tell me of the seeds of dissension in my crew or talk about dinner arrangements?” Zuko demanded.

“No dissension or disloyalty is meant by them. And dinner would be rather nice.”

“Fine. Then you go talk to them.”

“And tell them what?”

“That if they have questions they wish to take up with me, then I’m sure they won’t mind taking it up with the cold water as they’re rammed against the hull.”

“You would mean to throw them overboard?” Iroh questioned, surprised, angry, disappointed.

Zuko faced him, and they were nearly nose to nose now. He was breathing hard, face burning and tingling, ear twinging and now suffering from an incessant ringing. “That is the extent of my kindness. Inform the helmsman. Full speed ahead to the western air temple. We do not stop.”

“Prince Zuko, he will not be there.”

Sound closed in on him; air, sensation, all of it. There was a racing and pounding in him, a great roaring throughout his body, and in the air, even between him and his uncle. It seemed to fill the whole of his quarters, the ship, even as the world closed in on him.

“He has to be _somewhere_ ,” he argued. “Leave.”

Iroh’s face grew hard, eyebrows bunching together, “There will come a day, my nephew, when you find yourself alone and in need of family, and that family will not be there, for you have pushed them all away.”

Zuko frowned in sudden hurt and fury, the expression sending searing pain through the right side of his face as the skin and muscles of his wound were tugged at. Tears built up in his right eye against his will.

The roaring grew louder.

“ _I_ will push them away? I, who was abandoned by my mother, who is hated by his sister, and disgraced by his father? And what do you have to say for yourself, Uncle? You just came to get away from your brother, pushing _him_ away.”

“You do not want those you love to see you hurt,” Iroh simply explained. “It is why you lash out. And you will push and push at me like a great tidal wave caused by the trembling of the earth. But your attempts will fall against a mountain. The sea cannot crush what is.”

“Yes, it can!” Zuko cried, outraged at the idiocy presented before him, at what Iroh was trying to present. He now found himself pacing, breathing hard as heat bloomed from his clenched fists, wavering in the air. Iroh just seemed perplexed, stroking his beard.

“Perhaps you are right. Mountains, water… No, it does not matter. Whatever I am to you in your heart at this very moment, it will only lead to the destruction of your spirit.”

Zuko gave a harsh laugh. “I didn’t realize that caring about you was a requirement.”

“It may not be,” Iroh began to counter, thoughtful, but as unyielding as a strong wind, “but caring about yourself _is_.”

Zuko stilled, stunned. And he hid from those words, from himself. His face burned. The roaring fell into sudden, agonized silence, and everything seemed too daunting, too big. And Zuko wanted to reach out, feeling as if his life, his path, his destiny were drifting away, and that he could grasp it. But there was no grasping a violently changing path. The enormity of his task blasted through his spirit, and anger welled up to meet it.

Prince Zuko, injured, afraid, and losing his way, tilted his head back and roared. Bright orange fire burst from his mouth, writhing through the air in an ever-widening blast till it wreathed the metal ceiling of his quarters. The metal burned hot and red, and the air was heavy and full of power from his fire’s presence. Even the heat was a physical thing not to be tampered with. And it was his enemy. The fire — the great, roaring, untamed beast that it was — was Zuko’s bane.

The fire extinguished, and he heaved in a breath, falling to his knees. Iroh rushed over and laid a hand on his shoulder. Zuko wanted to reach up and clasp that hand, but he just let his vision fill with red, before trickling into the deadness of a reality he could not undo.


	3. Chapter Three: Fruit From the Branches

The men were playing instruments, and the cook and the helmsman were dancing. Iroh sang. Zuko sat around the fire on the deck and watched, arms crossed. He saw his crew through the flames, just as he saw everything these days. And the fire wasn’t just his, or the benders’ aboard his ship. It was his father’s, and that reminder had been blasted onto his face.

The padding over his eye was not as thick, the salves less goopy, and now was used more for breaking up scar tissue than pain relief. It was to make sure the tissue would not harden and stiffen and make him suffer the loss of his eye. If he could not close his lids, the healer had told him that more damage would come, and it would hurt and ruin. Zuko didn’t want to think about that. Under the padding he did his best to use his lids, and he massaged at the gross scarring when the healer couldn’t. Doing so sent Zuko’s stomach into a roiling storm.

That couldn’t possibly be his skin — all wrecked, and wrinkled, and puckered. And it was rough, unnatural. It wasn’t his. It just couldn’t be.

At least, when the padding was removed, vision came to him, if only in dizzying blurs. But day by day it seemed to be getting better. Still, at times he had to keep both eyes closed, the oddness of his sight giving him ruthless headaches.

Zuko spent a lot of his days avoiding his crew, dodging his uncle, and occasionally yelling at the healer. And if he did run into anyone, he quickly asserted his rule and dominance.

But now, after dinner, before the fire, with music winding through the air, it was as if none of that was real. Not to them. But there was fire, and Zuko longed to touch it, to use it once more. But the brutalized child inside of him quailed at such an idea. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t touch that fire, not since releasing it in his quarters in a burst of frustration and rage.

He would have to eventually. He knew that. The avatar had had a hundred years to train. Zuko would need all of his skill and strength for capturing him. And his training would have to start anew, now that he had a part of him he’d need to carefully protect while fighting, now that his vision might not be the same. Even now he was still relearning basic tasks. The healer had mentioned that each person had a dominant eye, and apparently that had been his left one, so the world seemed somewhat different, tilted, pushed to the side. Donning his clothes was a task he’d perfected in private, but his hair was another matter, and he sometimes had to request help from his uncle.

His hair. He missed the full head of hair he’d had, but it had been better to shave most of it than to keep it uneven. Better to make it look like a choice, than more marks of an injury.

Yes, Zuko was relearning, and perhaps he had to do that with his training soon.

Abruptly, he stood, fists at his side.

“Zuko, would you like to play the tsungi horn?” Iroh asked, gleeful from the music.

“No. What I want is to train.”

All the music abruptly stopped, and the cook and the helmsman froze, holding each other. His uncle approached, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.

“It is late. Tomorrow.”

“No, I want to start now!”

Surely sensing his irate mood, Iroh conceded, stepping back. He called a soldier forward. Zuko hadn’t even bothered to learn his name since they’d been at sea, but he was weathered, strong body underneath his uniform coupled with his easy confidence showing that he’d seen battle.

Zuko smiled.

Excellent.

“Clear a space,” his uncle requested of the crew. They did so, the fire extinguished and the barrel moved to the side, and the low stools taken below deck. Once Zuko was facing the man, in a beginning stance, Iroh directed, “We will start with the basics.”

Zuko whirled on him, fuming. “I don’t need basics. I need to regain my strength, and I can’t do that if the men treat me like a child.”

“Prince Zuko, you presume too much. I am not treating you like a child.”

“Oh, really?” Zuko challenged, spoiling for a fight, already feeling much too cooped up on this ship.

“I am treating you as someone who needs rehabilitation. If a branch is severed from a tree, and a new branch is grown, does it immediately bear fruit? No. It waits until it is strong and healthy.”

Zuko stalked forward. “But my purpose, my _destiny_ , is much greater than that of a stupid tree!”

“Many think so, but until a tree can yield any fruit, its task is to grow, to strengthen. That is now the task set before you, and it is not something you can skip over because you are in a bad mood.”

“I’m not in a bad mood!” Zuko roared, unthinkingly.

Iroh just raised an eyebrow at him, but then gestured behind him to the soldier. “Officer, you have leave to spar with my nephew. Do not hold back.”

When Zuko turned back to his opponent, the officer was in a fighting stance, but it lacked conviction. Nerves were written across his face.

Zuko grinned.

This was going to be fun.


	4. Chapter Four: The Darkest Tunnel

The first move done by the officer was easy to predict, and as he stepped forward with one foot, and pressed his fist forward through the air, fire shooting out of his hand, Zuko was already crouching low, feet far apart, toes pointing slightly outwards to keep his balance. He moved with his weight, and went down on one knee, one arm going back, and the other aiming forward for the officer’s feet.

He misaimed, his depth perception off because of the padding over his eye.

The officer was able to easily diffuse the fire with a motion that spread his feet apart, and then he was jumping and kicking, and Zuko had to raise up his arms, pull the fire until it didn’t exist. It was a very basic firebending move, but somehow Zuko had failed. Maybe he hadn’t gotten his arms up in time, maybe he’d misjudged which direction the fire was coming at him from. Either way, the fire diffused, but not the force of it, and Zuko went flying backwards, and he landed hard on the deck, the air knocked out of him.

Iroh leaned over him, infuriating Zuko.

“Would you like a break?”

As an answer, Zuko snarled, jumped to his feet, and went on the offense with the officer, letting his anger fuel his movements — his jumps, his kicks, punches. It was a fierce flow of arms and legs, and the officer met him back, often able to dodge to the side while throwing a punch of his own.

The officer certainly wasn’t the most skilled firebender that Zuko had seen, and Zuko thought that he was even better than him.

Apparently not.

Over and over again, he tried, and he ended up getting knocked around repeatedly. His body was sore, but his anger was strong, and he kept going, till his fire was overwhelming and out of control.

But the officer pushed through the fire with his foot, hoisting it way up in the air, arms back to keep his balance. His leg then arced to the left while still high, in order to move the extra energy. Zuko took advantage of that, and got inside his defenses, and he knocked him backwards.  
For the first time in this long sparring session, the officer was on his back.

But that didn’t stop him from kicking, from creating fire from his feet, and shooting it right at Zuko.

Zuko had just thought he’d won, that perhaps this was over.

But the fire was coming right at him.

His father’s fist was in his vision, fire erupting from his knuckles, heading towards his face, burning.

Kneeling, begging, and crying had not been enough to save him.

Zuko had to save himself now.

Fueled with rage, he tried to dissipate the strong blast of fire, but it came at his face. Fire flashed in his eye, so close. He leaned back as far as he could, the fire going over him, just barely missing him.

Zuko had not been prepared for such a firebending form, so he fell, and the officer, having gotten to his feet, was now standing over him.

Zuko pushed himself up on his elbows, and the officer started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he cried. “I’m not finished with you!”

Head turned, he could see him going below deck, thinking he was victorious.

“Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you. I am your prince! Come back here.”

Zuko hurriedly got to his feet, and tried to race after him. He let out a cry as he firebended at the officer, the blast large and powerful.

Iroh’s hand pushed the fire to the side, as he came forward and intervened. His hand still came towards Zuko in a quick, but strong motion, until his hand was wrapped around Zuko’s knuckle. The fire and heat faded from the air, and smoke drifted up from Zuko’s knuckles.

“I think you have had enough,” Iroh told him calmly.

Zuko pulled his hand away, and turned, going to the starboard side of the deck to look out at the waters surrounding them. The dark waters were calm for now, but he knew they could be like him, and perhaps they were beneath the calm surface. Perhaps there was always a storm somewhere.

“Of course you do!” Zuko shot at him. “You’re the laziest man in the Fire Nation. You care more about Paisho, tea, and roast duck, than you do about your own country. I need to be strong. I can’t just lie around and do nothing like you!” With the last words he turned on him, and Iroh’s face was blank, as if he’d practiced how to react to Zuko’s harsh words. “What?” Zuko held his arms out in challenge. “You’re not going to say anything?”

Stomping over to him, he made to push him, but Iroh got in close, punching his abdomen, hooking his foot with his own and drawing his leg forward, and then he pushed him back.

Zuko fell.

He roared, but the fire did not come to him. All he felt was cold.

“You are not yet ready to train. Wait until you heal.”

“I don’t want to wait!”

“You are already waiting!” Iroh shouted, finally showing anger. “Waiting to capture the avatar, to regain your honor. But it is pointless. The avatar has not been seen for a hundred years. My brother did not send you on this mission so you would succeed. He sent you away, and gave you something to do that no one can succeed in. Your honor cannot be given to you by him, the man who hurt you. Your honor has to be found _within you_.”

“I have no honor,” Zuko shouted. “I might as well just cut off my topknot. But oh wait, I already shaved my head for my dishonor.”

It was true. He had done that, not just because of his missing hair. Shaving the head was a pure sign of dishonor.

“So where do you think my honor is, Uncle?” he replied, getting to his feet. “In me? You want to know what’s in me? You really want to know?!” Zuko didn’t wait for his uncle to reply before yelling in his face, “Hatred! Nothing but hatred, and—and pain, and anger. I’m mad at you, I’m mad at the world, I’m mad at the avatar for not being my prisoner by now. I am angry with the very fire in me. So don’t tell me there is honor there. What honor is there to be found in darkness?”

Iroh just closed his eyes in admonition, and lowered his head.

“Even the darkest tunnel has an end.” And with that he went to the far side of the deck, picked up the discarded _erhu_ , and hummed to himself as he strummed out a song.


	5. Chapter Five: Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished the emotional journey I wanted to go on with Zuko, so this is the last chapter. Enjoy the angst.
> 
> **WARNING:** Suicidal Thoughts

Why did he have to be trapped on a ship? It was a fairly good size — though somewhat smaller than the other warships — but it had plenty of room for pacing the halls. And yet it still didn’t feel like enough. It seemed crowded wherever Zuko went: his bunk, the mess… So now he found himself out on the deck, wrapped up against the cold in a barely-warm-enough, burgundy cloak. The water slapped against the ship to an arrhythmic tune that Zuko had long grown used to. The deck was empty, nearly lightless. The moon and stars lit their journey now, and when Zuko looked up, he could see the helmsman running back and forth to the window and farther into the room, as if he were charting the sky.

Zuko turned his gaze away from him, and stared out at the dark water.

That’s all there was outside this ship. Just deep, cold emptiness. Salt spray lapped up over the metal hull, pattering against Zuko.

His hands gripped the sides tightly, the metal along the joint creaking slightly from the pressure exerted on it. If only there was somewhere else to go. He didn’t want to be on this stupid ship. He didn’t want to be anywhere near his pathetic, lazy, no-good uncle.

Pfft! His talk of honor earlier had been false. Horribly false.

What honor was there in a burned face, a shaved head, and banishment?

The only hope he had now lay with the avatar.

But maybe the dark waters had something for him too. He could get off this ship. He could leave. He could become the cold instead of the heat, and never see his uncle again, never worry about his honor.

It wouldn’t be quick, but what did he care about quick?

His healing was progressing slowly, as was his search. Time constantly fought against him — what would he be without it battling him at the end?

Zuko leaned over, farther, farther…

Cool water splashed upon his face, the ship rocked.

Zuko closed his eyes, and breathed in the cold, his nose stinging from it.

A loud creak sounded as the door to the quarters opened, and water nearly met Zuko once more. He jumped back, startled, realizing how far he’d been leaning over, thinking, dreaming…

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh addressed him, immediately turning Zuko’s stomach, “come inside where it is warmer. And you must get sleep. What would the healer say if he knew you were not resting? You must still—”

“What?” Zuko roared, turning on him. “You want me to heal? He wants me to heal? What does it matter? My _father_ did this to me! My! Father!”

“I realize—”

Zuko had been stalking over, and now he shoved him, “No! You don’t! You don’t realize what it’s like! No one does! You think I like having this thing on my face?

“I do not—”

“Well, you’re wrong!” Zuko continued, as if Iroh hadn’t said anything. “I’m a prince, am I? Then what kind of prince am I? What kind of prince is ugly and disfigured thanks to his _own! Father!_ "

He gave a bitter laugh, arms out, and turned, back to the wide open ocean. “And I have to find the avatar — a man who hasn’t been seen in a hundred years.

“I’m not a prince! I’m a joke! I’m a joke, Uncle, and you know it!

“I’m not good for anything. I can’t train, my words are useless and treacherous at my father’s meetings, and I’ve been sent to capture a man who might not even be alive!”

There was empty silence at this, surprising Zuko.

His cloak and hair whipped in the chill, salt wind off the water.

“I’ll show them,” he muttered, first to himself, and then he went on, “I’ll show all of them! I _will_ capture the avatar. And I’ll do it myself. I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone. It’s _my_ honor I’m trying to reclaim, and I’ll do it on my own.” He turned back to Iroh. “So _leave. Me. Alone!_ ”

“You are hurt.”

“Perceptive,” Zuko snarled sarcastically. “What made you think that? Was it the horrible burns on my face? Tell me, are you getting as stupid and weak-minded as you are fat?”

Zuko’s accusatory tone was apparently not liked at all, because next thing he knew, Iroh was glaring, eyebrows lowered.

“You do not know what you are saying.”

“I know perfectly well what I’m saying!”

“Then why are you pushing me away?”

“I never wanted you here in the first place.”

“Then you want to be alone?”

Zuko threw his arms out, and roared into the night air, surprising himself as fire bloomed from his mouth and shot fifteen feet into the air.

“ _I want to be by my father’s side!_ ”

He fell against the hull, holding on tightly to keep himself up, as Iroh rushed over. He let him wrap him in his cloak, adding to the security and warmth of his own. Zuko could barely see straight, could barely feel his hands or feet. His chest hurt, like a great hole had been punched through it. Maybe the fist guilty of such a thing had been his father’s. But no, the evidence of his actions here, burned on his face.

“I want to go home,” he said, words nearly a sob. “I want my honor back. I don’t want this _reminder_ on my face. I don’t want— I don’t want—”

But Zuko no longer knew what he didn’t want. Any of it.

He didn’t want his sister to be awful, for his father to have hurt him, for his mother to be gone, for his cousin to have been killed.

He didn’t want the pain that swelled through his eye in red, raw, agony; he didn’t want this duty placed before him.

He just wanted to be himself again.

Without his honor, there was no Zuko.

Iroh tried to wrap his arms around Zuko and hold him, and Zuko shoved back with his elbow, and flung him aside as he rose to his feet. Iroh’s cloak fell, and billowed across the deck.

“I don’t want _you!_ ” he shouted. “You’re the last thing I want, _Uncle_. You can’t help me.”

He turned before he could see the hurt on his uncle’s face, knowing what he had to do.

This was his task, set before him.

This was his destiny.

And he would do it alone.

“I will find the Avatar,” he said, gazing out, imagining some faraway land where the avatar now was, “and I will do it on my own. I’m strong enough to face him. It’s my destiny. I will regain my honor.”

Zuko didn’t hear Iroh’s admonitions. He didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t see the dark.

The light of his destiny burned within him, and for the first time since the Agni Kai, he felt alive.

Quietly, to the other being his future was tied to, he murmured, “I’m coming, Avatar.”


End file.
